


hiding (the pain away)

by thunderstorm (ConsultingTimelordWizard)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Chronic Pain, F/F, Fluff, Getting Together, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 04:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingTimelordWizard/pseuds/thunderstorm
Summary: Prompt: “With the mark comes increasingly severe chronic pain - pain like the Inquisitor has never experienced. They keep it under wraps, though, not wanting to appear weak or have anyone pity them. But some days are worse than others and their intake of potions made by the healers plus their own herbal remedies and even alcohol are beginning to become noticeable to others. How does their LI find out and help them? If it is Solas, does he feel guilty for causing this?”---The mark has caused Elera Trevelyan unimaginable pain since the Breach first appeared. Solas had assured her the pain would die down once it was closed, but they've been at Skyhold for months now and it's only gotten worse. She tried to drown it out with expensive alcohol and potions given to and made by her, but everything eventually comes to fruition--even on a battlefield.





	hiding (the pain away)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble response, RIP
> 
> Credit to http://dapromptexhange.tumblr.com for posting the prompt! I'll likely be filling out a few more from that tumblr blog, so expect to see more in the future!

Elera Trevelyan was woken up to the feeling of fire in her veins and sudden breathlessness, her private quarters—usually dimly lit by the moon’s light—aglow with a sickly green hue. She grabbed the pillow behind her in time to shove her face into it and muffle her agonized scream, body curling into a tight ball and arm convulsing freely as the pulses from the mark on her hand came steadily. She wasn’t sure how long it was until the pulses slowed and finally stopped, but by then Elera was covered in sweat and her throat felt raw. Her entire arm twitched from the after effects of the mark’s spasms, veins still feeling like fire but slowly ebbing into the dull throb she normally felt on good days.

If tonight’s episode was anything to go by, today would  _ not _ be a good day.

Elera sighed in defeat and reached over to her bedside table, tugging the drawer open and pulling out a small bowl, a cloth, and a half-empty bottle of Tevinter wine Dorian had gotten her for her birthday. With a wave of her hand the bowl was filled with water, and she began the tedious process of wiping the sweat from her brow and checking on her arm, the same as every night. A few weeks back she’d found blood oozing from a battle-earned wound, reopened from the intensity of the mark’s spasms, but tonight she was lucky. Instead of blood, she noticed what looked like several scars creeping their way up her arm, tinted the same shade of green as the mark on her hand.

Elera grabbed the wine bottle, uncorked it, and chugged straight from the bottle.

She’d deal with the panic that would no doubt come in the morning. The moon was still bright in the sky, way too early an hour for her to be up, and at the moment Elera wanted nothing more than to sleep. She set the bottle aside and curled back under her covers, covering her hand with the pillow she’d screamed into to block out the light glow from her palm.

Just another average night for the Inquisitor. 

 

***

 

Elera had a routine.

It started at Maker-knew-when at night when her mark decided she needed a little more pain in her life, a pain so sharp that when it had first happened her scream was enough to summon some guards who believed she was being murdered. Solas had assured her that once the Breach had been closed, the pulses were sure to stop and she’d finally get a full night’s rest, and--fool that she was—Elera had believed him. She’d suffered the pitying glances from her fellow troops and supposed worshipers each day while at Haven as she made her way from her cabin to the healer for a potion or two, then later to the tavern for a stiff drink. Blackwall had often joined her once he’d been recruited to their cause, the two of them swapping stories about their home and the biggest creatures they’d fought; a real dick-measuring contest. The Iron Bull, of course, beat them all once he figured out her routine, though half the time she wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth. Properly drunk, Elera would stumble back to her cabin, stare at reports that she didn’t know half of the words of, and collapse onto her bed to cycle through the day again. Missions were a little more difficult, but Solas was a competent potions-brewer and Dorian always had a flask on him, either of them helping her through depending on her party for that trip.

The pain didn’t stop with the Breach, though, but Skyhold didn’t need to know that. She was no longer Elera Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, which was daunting enough on its own. She was Inquisitor Elera Trevelyan, leader of the Inquisition and a figure all of Thedas was to look up to if Corypheus was to be stopped. Showing pain wasn’t an option for her, so she had to hide it.

Her pain-filled nights never stopped, but it was easier to hide that with how secluded her quarters were from the rest of the hold. Elera had given the staff strict orders to only clean when she gave the go-ahead to stop any accidental discovery, and so far they had obeyed. From her room she made her rounds, gritting her teeth against the throbbing that seemed to increase in pace and intensity when she was near Solas for a reason she couldn’t understand. Perhaps it was lucky she always looked stressed or tense, because no one bothered asking why her jaw was clenched enough to hurt, nor why she kept her hands clasped behind her back when she could help it. By the time she got to Cassandra the surgeon would finally be in sight, and Elera told herself that was the only reason her heart leapt in excitement. It was never the way Cassandra swung at her training dummies that made her react that way, with her toned muscles flexing in the rising Orlesian sun under a loose shirt that hung  _ just right _ (because she didn’t always wear armor, contrary to popular belief). Nor was it the way Cassandra would startle slightly when she noticed Elera approaching, a slight smile touching her lips in acknowledgement.

No, it was because the surgeon had the stronger healing potions that she’d always been awful at making herself. It had nothing to do with her ill-fated crush on Seeker Pentaghast. 

That never fooled the surgeon, of course, not after the woman saw Elera run into a wall several times already as Cassandra swung at the practice dummy with well-practiced ease, stopping just short of chopping its head off or puncturing it beyond repair. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and she was proud when it didn’t happen again, the only embarrassing aspect of the morning being that Cassandra caught her staring and smiled at her. 

_ Smiled.  _ Elera could swoon from a smile like that. 

She entered the surgeon’s building and quickly shut the door behind her, ignoring the older woman’s chuckle as she took a few breaths to slow her heart rate. When she was certain her flushing had stopped, Elera finally looked to the surgeon, an older woman with a kind smile that reminded her of her mother. She remembered vague details about her family, having been eight when she was brought to the Ostwick Circle, but she was certain her mother had a smile like Surgeon Rein. 

“Hiding from your object of affection again, Lady Trevelyan?” Rein teased, and Elera brushes the hair out her face with her good hand to compose herself. 

“Please, I haven’t been a lady in twenty-seven years,” she responded, sitting on one of the free cots and smiling warmly at the surgeon. “Do you have the potion ready, Rein?”

Rein’s smile faded, and she grabbed the potion from the top shelf with practiced ease. “I always do, my lady. How was the pain last night?”

A flash of intense pain sparked through the mark at the thought of the previous night, and she stifled her gasp by clenching her jaw tight. “It was worse than previous nights, I admit. Unfortunately, I can say that I’ve had it worse than this.”

The surgeon tutted and knelt before Elera, examining the mark and tracing the branches from it that traveled up her arm, tinted the mark’s unique shade of green even when the mark itself was otherwise dormant. “There’s only so much I can do to help with this matter, my lady. Perhaps Solas would be able to relieve some pain that my potions and tonics cannot.”

“No,” Elera said quickly, almost tanking her hand from the woman but just barely resisting. “It is bearable with what you’re able to provide, I promise.”

“It is spreading, Elera. It cannot be that bearable if it is consuming more of your arm each day.”

Elera swallowed thickly and looked away. She knew the surgeon was correct, that seeing Solas was likely the best solution for whatever was going on, but she didn’t want any of her companions to see her as lesser for being unable to handle the mark. She didn’t want  _ Cassandra _ to see her as lesser, more truthfully. If it affected her field work, however, and endangered her teammates…

“I’ll consider it,” she finally said, voice trembling slightly. “I owe it to the people I fight beside, don’t I?”

Rein smiled gently and nodded. “They will be more understanding than you believe, my lady. Even your Seeker.”

“She’s not my Seeker, Rein. Nor am I a lady.”

“If either of those become true statements, then I will follow them as such. Until then, you are of House Trevelyan, a noble household, and I shall respect you as such—mage or not. Likewise, if you confess your affection to Seeker Pentaghast and she does not reciprocate, I will stop referring to her as yours. Believe me, though: she holds more affection toward you than you believe.”

Elera gave the surgeon a small smile and nodded. “Thank you. I’ll let you know if I’m right and you’re not.”

Rein smiled cheekily and stood, brushing the dirt off of her knees. “I would expect nothing less of you, my lady. 

 

***

 

In the end, it was her own stubbornness that revealed her pain to her companions, rather than her approaching Solas for help like Rein had suggested. 

Elera had meant to go to Solas, honestly, but soon after meeting with the surgeon her advisors had told her the sooner she got to Crestwood the better. The humidity and general dreariness of the place didn’t do anything for her mood, let alone the pain that seemed to worsen in bad weather. Though the constant rain had ceased after she’d helped get rid of the large Rift in Old Crestwood, it still rained about as much as the Storm Coast, and hunting down the Rifts she’d missed the last time they were there in such bad weather wasn’t the best. Varric and Solas were arguing with one another a few feet ahead over Cole, something that was becoming increasingly common between the two of them, and at her side, Cassandra huffed. 

“They’ll never agree,” she said. “I do not know why they bother arguing circles around each other every day.”

“They both care about Cole in their own way,” Elera said, smiling fondly at the two men. “Solas keeps treating him like a spirit, and Varric a human, so they’re bound to disagree.”

“But he  _ is _ a spirit,” Cassandra said, brows furrowing. 

“He’s the most human spirit I’ve met. Unless Cole says something to me, and so long as Cole is treated kindly, then why does it matter?”

“I suppose you have a point. You can be the one to get that in their heads though.” Cassandra nodded at the men, and Elera laughed, bumping her arm against the Seeker’s fondly. For a moment she thought she saw a light flush on her cheeks, but that had to be because of the weather. Armor could get hot, and humidity did nothing to lower the heat of Crestwood. The silence dragged between the two of them for a time, only filled with Varric and Solas’ arguing and the pattering of rain against the cobblestone path they walked along, and it was comfortable in a way that Elera only felt in Cassandra’s company. 

Which should’ve been weird, considering when they first met Cassandra was holding her prisoner, but no one was perfect. 

A familiar green hue flickered up ahead, and Elera tensed, reaching back and grabbing her staff from its holster on her back. Her companions did the same at once, their eyes to Elera for the okay. They had a routine: she would aim her mark at the Rift to drain its power and weaken the demons that came from it while the others attacked them, join them while the demons were down until the Rift reaches full power again, rinse and repeat. It was only a matter of getting close enough to start the process, and Elera muffled the sound of her footsteps as she inched closer. 

The mark flared as it usually did around a Rift, but rather than tingling it felt ready to  _ burst _ , and she shoved her hand at the Rift to close it. The mark burned as it sucked the power out of the Rift, and Elera let out a scream, clutching her forearm and dropping her staff—a critical mistake. The demons were going after her at once, but her companions made swift work of the majority of them. Cassandra used her shield to block the ice beam a despair demon shot her way, glancing at Elera as she cast a barrier around them both. 

“Are you alright?” Cassandra asked, though it was more of a shout so she could be heard above the demons’ shrieks. Elera nodded quickly and brought herself to her feet, grabbing her staff and casting a bolt of lightening toward the despair demon. 

“I’ll be okay,” she responded. “Go help the others. I’ll be alright here.”

Cassandra seemed hesitant but conceded a moment later, nodding and running toward the pride demon trying to attack Varric. Sweat was on Elera’s brow, and she wiped at it before continuing with their routine. Fire, attack, weaken the Rift, repeat. It was elementary at this point, but each time she weakened the Rift she nearly collapsed again. Even while fighting her companions kept sending her worried looks, but Elera just downed a health potion and continued her onslaught until the Rift was weakened enough to close. Her knees were weak and her breathing was heavy, but she shoved her hand at the Rift anyway to close it; somehow, it hurt worse than just draining it did. She tried to swallow back a scream but ultimately failed, sounding more strangled because of her effort and feeling as though her arm was about to fall off. 

If this was death, she’d gladly take it, though she’d miss seeing Cassandra every morning. A small price to pay for relief from  _ this _ . 

When the Rift closed she fell to her knees, arms wrapping around her to keep her from falling any further. Elera looked up and saw worry in Cassandra’s eyes, said eyes flickering between Elera’s face and her left hand.  _ So much for a secret _ , she mused internally. 

“Are you alright?” Cassandra asked, and Elera laughed painfully. 

“No, not really,” she admitted truthfully before passing out, the last thing she heard being Cassandra ordering Solas to look her over for injuries. 

 

***

 

Elera woke Maker knew how long later in an Inquisition camp, the red tent ceiling instead of her scrappy brown travel tent giving it away. She was in her night clothes and covered by what felt like two blankets, both pulled up to her chin and still managing to cover her short figure. It could’ve been a normal stop at camp, truthfully, but then she remembered the Rift and winced. That was certainly a way to reveal how much pain she’d been in since Haven, and not the way she’d intended by far, but what was done was done. She groaned and tried to sit up, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. 

Cassandra. 

Elera winced and lay back down, staring up at the other woman uncertainly. The contemplative look on Cassandra’s face could mean anything, she’d come to learn over the past year, so she had no idea what to expect. It didn’t seem like she was inclined to speak, though, so Elera wet her lips and asked,

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About half a day,” Cassandra responded. Elera’s mind froze. 

“Did you say half a day? Seriously?”

The Seeker raised an eyebrow. “Would I lie to you?”

She winced and sighed. The  _ unlike you  _ went unsaid but was certainly understood. “I’m just surprised. I haven’t slept that long in… in a while.”

“Because of your mark?”

“Yes, because of my mark.”

“Why didn’t you tell me it troubles you?” Cassandra asked, looking genuinely hurt. Elera’s heart broke; she hadn’t wanted to hurt Cassandra. “We could have gotten you proper help if we had known you suffered.”

“I didn’t want to worry any of you,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve dealt with pain before. It hurt like this back at Haven, and I couldn’t stand the pitying looks everyone gave me, Cassandra. I don’t  _ want _ pity. I can’t stand it.” 

“I believe you mix pity with concern,” Cassandra said slowly, pulling the blankets back from Elera and lifting up her left hand. Elera tensed, ready for pain to flare up, but was surprised to feel nothing but vague pins and needles along her arm. When she sat up that time Cassandra didn’t stop her, instead using her finger to trace the veiny branches that emerged from the mark to just above her wrist. She watched silently as she did so, uncertain of what to make of the situation. “I too often find myself mistaking concern for pity,” she continued, eyes flickering up to meet Elera’s own. “As a Seeker, we are meant to withstand enormous pain without flinching to do what needs to be done. As a Pentaghast, I am expected of the same for far less noble intentions. During my time with the Inquisition, I have taken a great deal of hits that led me to sustain serious injuries. Did you pity me while I was in pain?”

“No,” Elera said quickly, eyes widening. “I thought about dragging you by the ear to lay down and rest though.”

Cassandra chuckled and nodded. “I suspected as much. Tell me, then, why you would believe we would pity you, when you obviously do not pity us while we are in pain?”

“I—” She hesitated, looking away and rubbing her neck with her free hand. “I don’t know. In the Circle, when someone was ill or in pain we hid it in case a Templar saw and used our weakness as an excuse for punishment: Tranquility, because we couldn’t fight back, isolation under the guise of keeping disease from others, sometimes worse just because they could.”

“That is repulsive.”

“That was reality,” she countered, frowning. “I know you and Cullen wanted me to side with the Templars while closing the Breach, but between what was happening in Redcliffe and my experiences in a Circle personally, how could I not support the mages? Maker, I couldn’t show it, but when I heard Kirkwall’s Chantry went in flames and the Gallows were destroyed by the infighting I was  _ ecstatic _ . Would Andraste and the Maker want a world like this?”

It was Cassandra’s turn to frown, and they both watched each other for a moment, neither trying to make the first move. Elera could slowly accept that she saw concern, not pity, but if the mark brought enough pain to knock her unconscious, what good was she as Inquisitor? She swallowed thickly and closed her eyes. 

“So—”

“Elera—”

They both chuckled a bit awkwardly, and Elera nodded. “You first.”

Cassandra nodded and gripped Elera’s marked hand loosely in both of hers, her eyes intense as she looked at her. “I wish you had told me. I have… I have come to care for you a great deal since we founded the Inquisition, and seeing you collapse on the battlefield not from an enemy, but from this mark, terrified me.” She paused. “I do not want to see you come to harm, and if your pain is more chronic than temporary I wish to help you however I can.”

“Seeing you every morning helps me,” she murmured, blushing when Cassandra grinned. Slowly, as if she could scare Elera away with any sudden moves (which was possible, given her history), the Seeker brought the hand she held up to her lips and brushed them across her knuckles, her cheeks a deep crimson red. 

“Is that why I’ve seen you run into walls while looking my way?” Cassandra teased, and Elera giggled to hide (or show) her embarrassment, nodding and leaning closer to the other woman. 

“Perhaps.” Elera steeled her resolve and took a deep breath as she said, “Cassandra, I’ve come to care for you deeply as well. If I may, could I take you to lunch or dinner sometime? Just the two of us? There’s this little restaurant in Val Royeaux I’d love to try with you.”

“I would like that.”

The tent flap opened to the two of them grinning like idiots at one another, and Elera didn’t even mind when she heard Varric laugh at them. “You two finally got over yourselves, huh? Good for you. Hey Chuckles, she’s awake.”

She vaguely heard Solas explain how he’d cut off the majority of the pain she felt through the Fade and agreed to seeing him every few days to keep the mark from spreading any more than it already had, her mind more focused on the fact that she had a  _ date _ with Cassandra. 

Surgeon Rein would be delighted to be able to say  _I_ _told you so._ Elera couldn’t find it in herself to mind. 


End file.
